


Tell Me Another One

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in an alternate "Fool for Love".  Spike tells Buffy a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Another One

“You’re such a liar, Spike. ” 

The shot glass was poised midway between the table and Buffy’s mouth; the words Spike had just uttered caused the retort to spring forth automatically. 

Spike refilled his own until the amber fluid near overflowed the top. He picked it up, careful not to spill even one minuscule drop of alcohol – especially given that he’d actually _paid_ for the stuff. He clinked his glass against the one still held suspended in her hands, gifting the Slayer with a smirk. 

“’Course I am. I am evil after all,” he snarked just before he tossed back the contents, slamming the glass bottom up on the table the two shared in the darkened corner of Willie’s bar. 

They’d started their chitchat session at the Bronze, Buffy having swooped into his crypt demanding in her most uppity, stake-up-her-arse voice that he, William the Bloody, was _going_ to tell her his secret – how he’d managed to kill not one, but _two_ , slayers. Spike had gone along peacefully enough, though he’d managed to sneak in several well-placed barbs that had hit their mark, the tight-lipped look she’d given him afterwards a dead giveaway. 

But he’d had to. Wouldn’t do for the Slayer to actually think that he _wanted_ to be in her company. 

Upon arriving at the Bronze, she’d insisted they get a table in the corner, far away from any prying eyes. She’d later let slip that she’d blown off her date with soldier boy – well, not so much blown off as rescheduled for “slayer purposes.” However , since this was his fantasy and, for once, he had the girl all to himself, Spike had allowed himself to come up with his own reasons as to why the Slayer was with him and not the Initiative Neanderthal tonight. 

Their “date” at the Bronze had almost been cut short when Buffy had caught sight of a few of Riley’s friends casing the joint. Her panic-stricken attitude at being discovered with an evil “monster” forcing her to shove him out a side exit. He’d silently cursed and railed at the fates that had interrupted his evening and in his anger, he’d thrown down the gauntlet, telling her in no uncertain terms, that if she didn’t stay with him tonight, she’d never learn how he’d beaten her sister slayers. Her eyes had darkened noticeably, and Spike had seriously thought he’d become dust beneath her feet right then. 

She’d caved under his bluff, though, and silently followed him out the door. 

She’d nearly balked again when they finally stopped in front of Willie’s, but surprisingly enough, managed to hold her tongue and step inside behind him. Which was how they’d come to be in another darkened corner, this time in a demon bar. 

Spike’s eyes lit with merriment at the remembered incident with the poncy Dracula, lending a boyish charm to his appearance. 

“But, in this instance, it’s the gospel truth. ” 

“Which makes me doubt it all the more, given that you’re practically swearing on the bible… And do vampires even swear on bibles?” Buffy looked at her glass for a minute as if she couldn’t quite figure out why it was held suspended in the air by her hand. 

Spike just quirked his brow at her, figuring it would be answer enough. 

“Finish your drink before you drop it, Slayer.” 

He had to admit, she didn’t hesitate a bit, throwing back the shot like she’d been doing it for years, rather than just a few hours. He liked this side of the Slayer a lot better. Take her out from the oppressive, self-righteous environment of her friends, and she was almost… _human_. At least that stake that he thought was a permanent fixture up her backside seemed to disappear the more she drank. 

Not that she was drunk. Far from it, in fact. More like the rough edges that were a constant companion of the Slayer had softened, the alcohol having allowed her to relax. 

“There is no way Dracula, _the_ Dracula, owes you eleven pounds!” 

“What’s this ‘ _the_ ’ crap?” Spike groused. “Hell, _I_ should be a ‘The.’ At least you’ve never been able to kill me, which is more than I can say for that nancy-boy wanna-be.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes and held out her glass for a refill. 

“It’s _his_ bloody fault people seem to know as much about us vampires as they do,” Spike complained as he upended the whiskey bottle. 

“Why’s that?” 

Spike opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words would come forth. He didn’t even know _where_ to begin on the subject of the poncy vampire. 

“Never mind… it’d take too long to explain.” The petulance in his voice did not go unnoticed. 

Buffy looked at the vampire seated across from her and blinked owlishly. _Is Spike_ _*pouting*_? The alcohol was making her feel rather nice, her normally rigid stance in the presence of her peroxide pest absent, allowing her to relax almost bonelessly against the back of the booth. Surely that was the reason she seemed to be reading a lot more into Spike’s mannerisms. 

And did she just think _her_ peroxide pest? 

No. Not hers. Never… hers. 

Riley. Riley was hers, not this man… 

_‘Vampire, Buffy,’_ she reminded herself _. ‘Evil vampire. Even if his pout is kinda cute… Okaaaay, stopping *that* line of thought right now!’_

Spike watched the Slayer as she stared fixatedly at him. Her expressive face going through a gamut of emotions: confusion, horror, determination, appraising, then back to determined, before she took a healthy swig of her shot and nearly sprayed it all over him as she choked on it. 

“Bloody hell, Slayer! Watch what you’re doin’… cost me twenty bucks for the bottle an’ I’ll not have you wastin’ it.” 

Buffy ignored him, too busy concentrating on easing the pain caused by the fiery liquid taking a wrong track down her windpipe. Her coughing fit so loud it disrupted some of the other patrons. 

“Oy! Willie! Get the Slayer here some water,” Spike shouted. 

The weasely bartender plopped a full glass of water down on the table a moment later, and Buffy took a grateful sip. 

“You alright now?” Spike asked once she’d set the glass down and leaned back in her seat. 

Buffy nodded, not sure if she could trust her voice yet. 

“Mind tellin’ me what that was all about?” he asked conversationally. 

“No,” she gasped out, still struggling for breath, then added another one, stronger this time. “No.” 

Spike shrugged as if to say he didn’t care one way or the other, pouring another drink and sipping at it. 

“You wanna hear the story or not?” 

Buffy looked at him, confused. 

“Dracula? Right poncy git? Owes me eleven pounds?” 

“Oh, go ahead. I know you’re just dying to tell me all about it,” she replied, injecting just enough sass in her voice to make it seem like she wasn’t eagerly awaiting for him to begin.

“Right then. Well, it was just after we left China. Darla had gone back to the Master after Angelus disappeared. And it was just me an’ Dru makin’ our way slowly back to Europe. Ended up stopping in Moscow for some reason… Dru, she gets that way sometimes.” Another shrug of his shoulders. “So, while she’s out doing her thing, I decide to take in the local color. It was my first time in Moscow, and I just went with the flow. Somehow I ended up in one of their fine drinking establishments, and I had my first experience with vodka. ‘Bout knocked me on my arse, it did.” 

Buffy smiled, picturing the scene in her head. 

“Well, I was feelin’ a might peckish, and there was this lovely barmaid that had been givin’ me the eye.” He smirked at her disbelieving snort, adding, “What can I say, luv, ‘m irresistible.” 

“Uh huh. I think I’m going to need another drink if I’m going to be able to listen to the rest of _this_ story.” 

Spike ignored her dry tone, pouring her another shot. He was warming to his tale and he had to admit, a small part of him liked having the Slayer’s undivided attention. 

“So, I was just about to get more personal-like with this barmaid when the front door bursts open and in walks, you guessed it… Drac. And can I just say, the man’s got as much fashion sense as—” 

“You’re insulting _his_ look?” Buffy interrupted. “You, who hasn’t realized that the eighties left us behind almost a decade ago?” 

“Yeah? Well, at least ‘m not prancin’ around in some foppish cape an’ long, girlish hair!” 

“He has nice hair… and he doesn’t prance, he glides. It’s very mysterious… and hypnotizing.” 

“Don’t tell me the Slayer has a thing for Dracula!” Spike shouted, drawing a few stares his way. 

“Shhhh… keep your voice down, would ya?” Buffy hissed. “And, I never said I had a thing for Dracula… but I could see the appeal.” 

“Appeal? Yeah, ‘cuz you like the subterfuge _so_ much,” he grumbled. “You disappoint me, Slayer. Always thought you were a straight forward kinda girl. Like me.” 

“You’re a straight forward kinda girl?” Buffy asked straight-faced. 

“Come over here an’ I’ll show you how much of a girl ‘m not.” His eyes bored into hers, and he knew he’d won the round when she swallowed hard and looked away. “’m jus’ sayin’. We don’t play those mind games. It was always about the kill between us. Just you an’ me… dancin’ til one of us won.” 

Buffy leaned her elbows on the table. “I seem to remember someone last year engaging in said mind games.” 

“That was different. Couldn’t very well attack you with this chip in my noggin’, now could I? Had to do somethin’ to prove I was still the Big Bad.”

“What, and now you’re not?” 

“I’m…of course I’m still evil. Just—” _‘Just what, Spike?’_ he thought. No answer came. “Look. Do you want me to finish this story or not?” he huffed. 

Buffy gestured for him to continue. “By all means.” 

“Right. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Cape, unnaturally long hair. Hell, ‘m surprised everyone didn’t know right off he was a vampire. He walks up to me as calmly as you please and tries to take my dinner right out of my hands. Only, she wasn’t havin’ it. Guess ‘m not the only one that thinks Drac’s a poofter. So, I tell him to bugger off, that the lady was taken, to go annoy someone else. Well, he didn’t like that.” 

“I can imagine. Some fledgling telling a master vampire to ‘bugger off’? Couldn’t have gone over too well,” she hypothesized. 

“Hey, I may have been a fledge, but I’d just bagged a slayer,” he told her candidly. “Was still riding the high of her blood. Besides, I never was one to bow down to authority. Me an’ Angelus came to blows often enough over what he deemed a ‘disrespectful’ attitude towards my elders. But that’s a whole ‘nuther story. We’re talking about your good friend Drac.” 

“He’s not my good friend… or good anything, for that matter. He was just a vampire I staked.” 

“Oh? So he’s not ‘ _the_ ’ Dracula anymore then?” 

“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?” she complained. 

“No. Prolly not.” 

The two shared a smile, the liquor they’d drunk taking any sting out of their exchange, then Spike got back to his story. 

“He tried his thrall on me, but it didn’t work. Pissed ‘im off, to be sure. But, hell, I had Dru for a sire. You wanna see someone with true thrall…” His voice trailed off uncomfortably and he took a moment to pour them each another drink. He held his glass aloft, waiting until she did the same. 

“Cheers.” 

Their glasses clinked as they connected, both draining their whiskeys in one long gulp. Neither noticed the burn of the alcohol, their throats long since immune to its bite. 

“Anyway, thrall only works on the weak-minded,” he added as he set his glass down. 

Buffy nodded sagely. _‘Yep. Weak-minded. I was just acting under thrall with Dracula.’_ “So, what happened next?” 

“Had me a li’l rough and tumble in the alley, then went back to drinking more vodka. Good stuff, vodka. ‘s not Glenmorangie but, it’ll definitely do in a pinch.” 

Buffy blinked at him owlishly. 

_Did he just say—_?

“You have sex with your… with your…” She couldn’t finish. Much to her utter shock, she found the image oddly arousing. _And what a way to go._ Braced up against the wall, legs wrapped around lean hips, his hands gripping her ass as he drove— 

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Slayer. ‘sides, it cuts down on the ‘scream’ factor. At least in most cases,” he added with a wink. 

The smirk was back and Buffy found herself helpless to look away, her mind still caught up in the images she’d created at his words. Her body reacted, knowing firsthand that a vampire’s bite could bring pleasure along with pain. She felt the tentative touch of his fingers against the back of her hand, and her mind begged her to run. To get as far away from the man seated across from her. Then he was talking, the purr of his voice wrapping an invisible chain around her waist, holding her in place. 

“Bet you’re a screamer,” he murmured seductively as he leaned across the table invading her personal space, his fingers now tracing a lazy pattern up the length of her forearm and back again. “All that passion crammed tight in that tiny li’l package. ”

Buffy swallowed at his words but couldn’t break the hold he had over her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d think she was under thrall right now. 

“Can soldier boy make you scream?” 

“No?” he asked when she gave a slight negative shake of her head. “Hmmmm… pity.” 

Spike pulled his hand away and sat back in his seat. He poured another drink for the Slayer and watched as she took it gratefully. 

“Back to my story. Like I said, when I came back, I sat down at the bar and drank myself into a stupor. Dru was still off doin’ god knows what and I was bored.” 

“You got drunk because you were bored?” Buffy had found her voice again and couldn’t resist the comment. 

“Not much to do back then. Wasn’t like I could watch _Passions_ or whatnot.” 

“And where was Dracula?” 

“He’d gone off to pout, no doubt. Prolly play a game o’ cards. Suppose I coulda’ played too, but I’d already pissed him off. Wouldn’t do to have me take all his money. Leave that to the locals.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“’s not my fault the git sucks at cards. An’ by the time I realized he was too drunk to engage his fancy parlor tricks and make good his escape, they’d ganged up on him.” 

“So you just swooped in to save the day?” 

“Well, I couldn’t very well let him be staked.” His grin said it all, and Buffy laughed. “Yeah, I could. But Dru, she’s big on family and tradition an’ all that rot. An’ if she found out I’d let ‘ _the_ ’ Dracula get staked… Let’s just say, that for a crazy bint, she’s rather clearheaded when it comes to torture.” 

“I thought you got off on pain.” 

Spike quirked his scarred brow at her. 

_‘Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush,’_ Buffy repeated silently. 

“There’s pain, and then there’s _pain_.” 

“Ahhhh,” she responded as if that made all the sense in the world. Pain was pain. It hurt, end of story. 

“You don’t believe me, but we’ve time yet.” 

That deer-caught-in-headlights look was back in the Slayer’s eyes and it made Spike impatient to act on her body’s response to the idea he’d just put in her head, give her a taste of what he knew it could be like between them. But he’d done enough for one night, pushed his way past the barriers she’d erected too often to do it again. 

Time to finish up the story and see the lady home. 

“So… Dracula?” Buffy prompted. 

“Yeah… I walk into the back room to see the great Dracula being held down by the humans he’d been playin’ cards with. Apparently, he’d lost everything and was in the hole. Was so pissed he could barely lift a hand to shove aside the weapons held against him, in particular the torn off edge of the axe that was poised just above his heart. That an’ the crucifix that was dangling from the neck of one of his assailants right in front of his face.” 

Buffy couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The image of the famed Dracula about to meet his dusty end at the hands of a few Russian peasants. Her astonishment must have shown on her face because Spike commented. 

“Told ya. Too much hype. Poncy git jus’ likes to _think_ he’s the Big Bad. Anyway… So I interrupt them, trying to work across the language barrier to see how much he owes. Roughly translated to eleven pounds. Eleven pounds! Which, back in that time was a lota’ dosh… an’ a hell of a lot more than they’d ever seen, or ever would. So, I flip a few gold coins their way and they eagerly release their captive to chase after them. We beat a hasty retreat and parted ways outside the pub.” 

Spike poured the last of the whiskey into their two glasses. 

“I went back to where me and Dru were shacked up and slept off one hell of a hangover. Never saw him after that. Like he was too embarrassed to show his face ‘round me. Can’t say as I blame him, him the master vampire being saved by a li’l ole fledge. Still an’ all, he owes me eleven pounds, add the interest of a hundred plus years as well as the cost of inflation…” 

He glanced up to see the Slayer’s eyes start to droop. 

“Drink up, Slayer. Time to get you home.” 

He finished off his drink and stood, waiting patiently as the Slayer did the same. They stumbled out of Willie’s weaving drunkenly and slowly began making their way towards Revello Drive.

The two finally drew to a halt outside her front door some time later, awkwardness overtaking them as they turned to face each other. 

“G’night, Slayer,” Spike told her abruptly, then bounded down the few steps to the walkway below. 

“Spike?” 

Spike stopped and turned around. 

“Yeah, pet?” 

“I… I had fun tonight,” she told him shyly. 

“Me too.” 

Another shared smile, then Spike made to turn away once more. 

“Spike?” 

He stopped and looked up at the Slayer. 

“Uhhh… maybe… maybe next time we could talk about the slayers?” 

“Next time?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Sure, pet. You know where to find me.” 

“Yeah… okay… ummm… tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night’s fine.” 

“Good… I-I’ll see you then.” 

“Right. ‘night, Slayer.” 

“Good night, Spike.” 

Buffy forced herself to open the front door and step inside, closing it with a soft click so as not to wake her mother. 

Outside, Spike allowed a smile to grace his lips as he made his way home – his mind already on the coming night. 


End file.
